Aqua
by MaybeRun
Summary: After being held and interrogated in an enemy base for three weeks, Rachel Walker was rescued, given a medal, and left to carry on with whatever sanity she had left. Once on her way to being one of the best, she now descends into an alcoholic haze of mental instability and paranoia. When an old friend comes along with an offer that could get her life back, who is she to refuse? OCx
1. Chapter 1

WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Graphic depictions of violence, torture, and minor character death. May contain triggering subject matter, rated M for a reason.

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Oh god.

It was dark. She couldn't see.

It was hot, but the heat had little to do with the way her clothes clung to her skin.

It was hot, dark, and muggy. She couldn't breathe.

Water was never meant to be used like this.

"_Where are they?"_

She gasped through the cloth over her mouth, trying to suck some air through the wet material. Oh god, oh god, oh _god,_ what was she even _doing _here? Why did she have to enlist? Getting captured wasn't the kind of thing that happened to _her,_ that's not how life was supposed to work. Bad things happened to _other _people_, _they were never supposed to become reality. This couldn't be happening, this _wasn't _happening.

A sharp _crack _against the side of her head abruptly ground her racing mind to a halt.

"Bitch, _where are they hiding?"_

Where was who hiding? Her platoon? They had all been killed in the ambush… none of them had seen it coming. Just barely dawn, and the enemy had come swarming in, guns spewing metal everywhere… Oh _Jesus Christ, _there was no way this was happening, no way in hell.

Oh and Tanner… and Cook, and Scooter, and skids, they couldn't be dead! They were so alive…. Just a few days ago they were all at the old table in the mess, playing cards and betting shower time and chores, Cook was describing how he and his wife were going to redecorate their diner back home, get a new room installed upstairs for the baby they were expecting…

What was the protocol for capture? Name, rank, number? She had never considered it a serious possibility that anything would actually happen.

She sobbed through the rag.

Fuck, she just wanted this nightmare to end, she just wanted to go _home._

"My- my name is Walker, I'm fr-rom third division, my-"

A signal was given, and a hand forced her down to her shoulders into the bucket between her knees.

Her bound wrists were jarred painfully against the back of her chair, but they were quickly forgotten under the ever-rising desperation for oxygen.

Reflexively gasping inwards, the water burned at her throat and nose, the sting intensified by the murky bile that lingered from the hour before.

Thrashing her head in resistance to the grip holding her under, black and technicolor spots began to swarm crazily across Walker's closed eyelids.

_Maybe I'll die this time,_ she thought. Who knew that thought could ever sound hopeful?

A bleary few moments of hazy stillness passed, and she was tugged out again, the rag sack ripped off of her head.

Why was she sucking in air? Wasn't death an escape a moment ago?

A booted foot kicked over her chair with a _thunk,_ and her battered head bounced against the hard floor just as a searing rip tore through her right arm.

She lost track of whatever happened next; there was heels and boots and fists and knees and at the end of it all she couldn't quite recall how long she had been cringing into her stomach like she was, waiting for another hit.

Time passed; she eventually wondered if she was alone, if they had left her to recover for a minute before the interrogation began again.

Her body hadn't had time to unclench before three men returned, dragging someone with them.

One man came towards her and she flinched away, but he only dragged her chair up again to face the limp body on the ground.

"Do you recognize this man?"

One of the figures holding up the man's body tugged his limp head back by the hair, revealing a slack jaw and a gruff, bearded face- _Oh, Skids…_

So someone else had been caught as well.

Despite her rowing dread, a tiny part of her was glad that she could recognize someone. Anything, really. The last few hours- days? Nothing had made sense. People she didn't know speaking a language she didn't understand in a land she wasn't familiar with- demanding answers to questions she had never had the clearance to ask herself. As terrible as everything was, tears gathered at her eyes at the relief.

Scooter- Scooter, who had fixed the caravan's back flat in four minutes flat, who had teased Cook for 'Being a nanny goat all the time', who had once lent her his med kit when she had sprained her wrist-

It didn't matter the circumstance, scooter made everything better. They would get out of this, they had to, that was how things were _supposed_ to happen. This would just be another adventure, another thing to go home after, another thing for scooter to get drunk and brag to Alice down at the pub about.

Scooter- who was now awake- and gurgling something.

Scooter, who no longer had his tongue.

She vomited into her lap.

_Click._ A knife appeared at the base of scooter's littlest finger, on his left hand, the wrist of which was pressed flat against the ground.

"Now, where is your general and his men hiding?"

"I-"

Scooter's eyes rolled wildly in his skull, not seeing anything, already too far gone.

"I d-don't know."

Scooter wasn't the only one to scream.

And when there was no hands left to saw at, a bullet to the eye ended scooter's screams.

Rachel Walker of Division Three was silent.

And when, two weeks later, the enemy was dispersed and the outpost overtaken by her fellow soldiers, Rachel Walker still hadn't told them a thing.

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Disclaimer: Consider it disclaimed. Short opening chapter, I'll try my best to update soon. J


	2. Chapter 2

WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Swearing and Alcoholic references.

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"Rachel."

Oh fuck, just _go away. _She wasn't in the mood for this.

"Rachel, get your ass off that couch and get over here."

Fuck, she wasn't going to go away this time, was she?

_Not likely._

Groaning at a combination of lethargy and the pounding in her head, Rachel opened her bleary eyes to the face of a rather pissed-looking blonde.

The blonde in question gave a derisive snort, before stalking off to the bathroom, bottles in hand.

_Wait, huh?_

Rachel quickly rolled off the stained brown sofa, wincing at the light as she scrambled after the other woman.

"Fuck, Jess! Don't you fucking dare!"

"Too late."

_Flush._

"Augh, _Fuck!_ Jesus Jess, what the _hell_?!"

The brown-eyed blonde scowled as the last of the amber fluid was sucked down the toilet.

"You'll thank me later."

Rachel, short brown hair in a mess, scowled right back.

"Like fuck I will! Do you have any idea how long it'll be 'till I can get another load in? Christ, what the hell? You're such a bit-"

_Crack._

Her head rocked at the force of the slap. She stared, wide-eyed, at the woman before her.

Teeth gritted, Jessica pointed at the empty bottles on the floor, the cans surrounding them in a trail that led around the entire apartment.

"How long until you can get another fix? Is that honestly _all_ you can think about? Wake the hell up, Rachel!"

She took a step back.

"Look at this! Just look! Is this seriously what you want to _do_ with your life?!"

"Yes."

The brunette turned around, storming back to the couch. She didn't have time for this kind of shit again.

"Rachel, do you even know how long you've been in here?"

That made her pause.

"I dunno, few days. Doesn't really matter."

The blonde froze, eyes bugging out angrily.

"Doesn't matter? Doesn't _matter_?! Rachel, it's been _two months! _I thought once you went though counseling you'd be ready to go back through the system, find a decent job, _something! _I knew it would be hard for you, but you aren't even _trying!"_

"_Don't!"_

Jess stopped.

"_Don't _you _Dare _even fucking _pretend _to understand what I'm going through! You think I don't know how pathetic this is? Do you think I didn't even _try_ to go back to normal?!"

"'Raech, I-"

"I fucking _tried!_ I got fired! My parents kicked me out! I _still _have fucking nightmares and flashbacks and the psychs and therapists nod and smile, and they don't fucking get it either! I'm broken, why the _fuck_ don't any of you _get_ that?! Just leave me the hell alone!"

It was silent for a few minutes. Rachel sat on the sofa and fiddled with a small pile of can tabs. Jess watched, traces of pity in her eyes.

"You just can't _live_ like this, jess."

"I know."

Silence.

"I made a few calls."

The brunette looked up in surprise.

"What _kind_ of calls?"

"Job calls."

Rachel went back to fiddling with the aluminum shards.

"Not interested."

Jessica sighed tiredly. This was her last shot, honestly. She loved her friend, she really did, but it was just too exhausting. Her boyfriend was beginning to notice her stress, suggesting time off work as a solution. Honestly, it was taking a toll. This was her last shot; if this didn't work, she was cutting the strings.

She took a deep breath.

"Mike's brother in law is in an obscure branch of the government. He says that they're always looking for new willing recruits, and they're not picky about… history and habits."

That earns a self-deprecating snort.

"You mean nuthouse crazy alcoholics?"

"I wouldn't phrase it like that."

"Sure you wouldn't. That's why I did."

The woman tried not to let her smile leak into her voice. She know, Raech, she was considering it. She wouldn't be open to banter if she wasn't.

"So, should I give the guy a call back?"

"Just tell me where to go."

Maybe things were looking up. Once she got a job, _if_ she got a job, she could get a better apartment in a nicer area, hot running water, stuck to her AA quota for once….

Well, baby steps.

If they didn't fire her within a week.

Perhaps she could let herself hope a little.

"Wanna help me clean up?"

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I kinda liked this one.J


End file.
